


if you don't love me now (you will never love me again)

by catwing



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Sexual Assault, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 12:26:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13318062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catwing/pseuds/catwing
Summary: It’s been almost two decades since they’ve been face to face, but Big Boss hardly sees them. Kaz has the same wild, kill-or-be-killed look as the first time Big Boss ever laid eyes on him. The same desperation, the same sheer nerve.





	if you don't love me now (you will never love me again)

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place in an AU where everything's the same except V was at Foxhound and BB was at Outer Heaven the whole time. I don't know the plot of Metal Gear. It's fine.
> 
> ETA: i don't like this anymore but it came from a very pure place of Big Boss Hate in my heart so i'm leaving it up. Also i tagged cautiously but please still heed warnings. its basically unwanted touching/kissing during a tussle.

There are lights on in the house. Big Boss glaces at his watch, lingering in the darkness between street lamps. He accounts for the time zone. 1:24 in the morning.

He steps across the small patch of grass out front and onto the front porch, his ear pricked for sounds inside. He moves to the door and presses his ear to it. Still nothing.

He sets about picking the lock. It isn’t difficult. No deadbolt. Kaz isn’t expecting him. Either that, or he knows better than to try to keep him out.

The lock gives with a tiny _click_ , and Big Boss nudges the door ajar. The room it opens into isn’t lit. It’s empty. Big Boss steps inside and eases it quietly shut behind him.

Kaz will know he’s here, in good time. No reason to announce his arrival before he’s had a chance to examine his surroundings.

Once inside, Big Boss can hear running water. The shower. Good. That gives him a few minutes.

The room he makes out in the darkness is large and clean. There’s a sofa and two armchairs. Matching. In front of the sofa is a small, glass table. Opposing it is a television.

There are only a few things in the room that seem out of order. On one cushion of the sofa is a pile of laundry. Some sits folded in a neat pile on its arm. On the table stands a single mug. Big Boss picks it up, runs his tongue over the rim. Black coffee. He sets it back over the little circle of condensation left behind on the glass.

Apart from these, the room barely looks lived in. Even the paint on the walls is smooth and unblemished. It’s unsettling.

There had been a rec room, at the base where Big Boss was stationed as a young man. It had books, magazines, a television. Big Boss hasn’t thought of it in years, but he’d spent hours in front of that little box when there was nothing else to do. Watching programs in black-and-white he no longer remembers the names of. This room brings those shows to mind. It doesn’t look real.

Yellow fluorescent light shines from beneath the opposing door.

Stove, countertop, cupboards, refrigerator. This is a little more familiar. Even in the suburbs, a kitchen is a kitchen. There’s a round wooden table in one corner. Three chairs.

Big Boss slides drawers open until he finds the knives, reflexively. Then he moves on.

The kitchen opens into a lit hallway with several doors. Behind one, Big Boss hears the running water. He moves past it, silently. Not yet.

At the end of the hall, a door is ajar. It’s painted yellow, a different color than the rest of the house.

The lights are off in this room. Blue white light filters through the window, but when Big Boss nudges the door back into place it throws the room mostly into darkness.

It’s a small room, and cluttered with cloth and plastic. Little lightweight pink and yellow blankets. Piles of miniature clothes. Bags. Diapers. Detritus. Against the center of one wall, under the window, stands a large, white crib. Big Boss picks his way through the mess and crosses to it.

He peers inside. The baby inside is asleep on its back. It’s surprisingly small, skinny-limbed and pink, with uneven tufts of dark hair. Its tiny hand is curled in a fist by its head.

Big Boss doesn’t see much resemblance.

He takes out a cigar and holds it between his lips. He’s patting his pockets for his lighter when the creak of the door makes him turn.

He sees Kaz in the doorway a split-second before Kaz sees him.

He registers the glaring changes first. He’s grown his hair out. It’s down to his shoulders.

Big Boss looks to his right arm, at his bare left foot. Sure enough, they’ve both been replaced with prosthetics.

Kaz sees him, then, and for a moment he doesn’t seem to trust his own eyes. Big Boss gives up on that lighter and lifts the cigar from his mouth, watching him from the darkness.

Kaz stands stock still, back lit by the hallway light, and his eyes go from Big Boss to the crib and back again. There’s no big tell, nothing so obvious as a curled fist, but Big Boss sees the exact moment his whole body tenses for a fight.

It’s been almost two decades since they’ve been face to face, but right now Big Boss hardly sees them. Kaz has the same wild, kill-or-be-killed look as the first time Big Boss ever laid eyes on him. The same desperation, the same sheer nerve.

Looking at him, Big Boss feels a kind of desire he hasn’t experienced in years. The full-body kind. The kind that feels like a punch to the stomach. 

He had forgotten. 

He lowers his cigar.

“Hey, Kaz.”

Kaz’s eyes make another furtive trip to the crib and back to Big Boss’s face.

“Boss.” He manages, finally. Civilly.

Big Boss decides to let him off the hook.

“Relax,” he says, “I wouldn’t hurt your kid.”

As he moves past Kaz through the doorway he sees his shoulders relax about a millimeter.

Kaz trails him into the kitchen, watchful. He’s taller than Big Boss remembered. Isn’t that funny.

“Believe it or not,” Big Boss continues, pulling himself a chair at the table, “I’ve never wanted you as my enemy.”

He settles into the chair, glancing up at Kaz in time to see the incredulous look on his face before he schools it back to neutral. _Not_ , then. Well, he figured.

Kaz drifts to the far side of the room, his eyes trained on Big Boss. Never turns his back to him. He always was smart.

Kaz leans up against the counter, crosses his arms. Not the knife drawer. Not far from it, either.

He gives Big Boss a look. _So?_

Big Boss looks him over again, in the dim yellow light. He’s wearing sweatpants. His hair is leaving damp patches on his plain white t-shirt. Shades are nowhere to be seen. His eyes don't look quite right. 

He eyes the prosthetic arm with curiosity. It looks well made, more sophisticated than the one Ocelot chose for the phantom all those years ago. It doesn’t seem to inhibit his movement or unbalance him much, and it’s color is matched to his skin tone. If Big Boss hadn’t known to look, his eyes might have slipped by it entirely. He could almost pass for a civilian.

Is that what he’s doing, these days? Trying to fit himself back into the world. Trying to have it both ways. Teach little soldiers how to kill and then put it all out of his mind the minute he steps off the base. Does he wake up before dawn and kiss his wife before he puts on his uniform? Does he tell himself it’s what makes him a soldier, then, and tell himself again when he takes it off in the evening?

He hasn’t been near a real warzone in years, Big Boss guesses. He must miss it. Big Boss knows him well enough to be sure of that much.

"Where’s your wife? Sleeping?” Big Boss says, ignoring his look. She’s not, he would hear another person in the house.

He goes in search of his lighter again.

“Covering the graveyard shift for a friend,” Kaz says, curtly. Then, after a moment, “She’s a nurse.”

“Hm. Military?”

“Discharged a couple years ago.”

“What did you call the kid?” He finds it, finally, in one of his lower thigh pockets.

This takes Kaz longer to answer, like he doesn’t want Big Boss to know. As if the information weren’t on file.

“Catherine,” he says finally. There’s something in his voice that makes Big Boss look up from his lighter. Kaz isn’t looking back. “After her grandmother.”

It takes Big Boss a second to figure out he means the other grandmother.

“Hm.” He places his cigar back between his lips, begins fiddling with the lighter.

“Boss, you can’t smoke that in here,” Kaz says, and a little incredulous smile creeps onto his face, just for a moment. “I’ve got a newborn, come on.” He shakes his head.

Big Boss feels a wave of familiarity wash over him. Kaz nagging him. Just like old times. He puts the cigar and lighter back in his pocket and turns toward him in his chair.

“Kaz,” he says, his voice low. “Come here.”

Kaz looks up at him, eyebrows raised.

“‘Come here’,” Kaz repeats, impassively, as if the words have no meaning he can discern.

“Mm.” Big Boss looks him in the eye. “I’ve missed you, Kaz.”

Kaz blinks, doesn’t react for a moment. Then he stares at him in transparent disbelief.

“You think I’m going to _fuck_ you?” he says, anger creeping into his voice.

He never used to be quite that blunt. _Fooling around_ , he would say. Big Boss smiles at him.

Kaz’s lip curls, temper getting the better of him.

He un-crosses his arms and pushes away from the counter. Trying to leave. Big Boss rises to his feet and steps into his path.

Kaz stops and looks him in the eye, furious. He looks like he has something to say, like there’s something vicious right on the tip of his tongue. He visibly wrestles with it for a moment. Finally, he swallows it down and just keeps moving.

Their shoulders knock. Not gently.

Big Boss’s reaction is instant, automatic. It bypasses emotions –anger, exhilaration– altogether. The impact of Kaz’s back against the wall makes a loud  _thud_ that seems to rattle the whole house. Big Boss’s hand goes around his throat, exerts just enough pressure on his windpipe to hold him still. Kaz grabs him by the wrist. He’s got a strong, painful grip, but it’s an instinctive, panicked move, not a considered attack. Not a threat. Not even a challenge.

Big Boss’s senses return to him one by one. The sound and rhythm of his own heavy breathing. The adrenaline coursing through him. The sheer, visceral pleasure of having his hands on Kaz, skin to skin. He’s been wanting to touch him since he walked into the room.

Kaz’s eyes are open already, fixed on his. They're so pale. Corpse eyes. 

He’s breathing hard, Big Boss can feel his pulse racing under his fingers, but his gaze is level and his teeth are set. There’s an honesty in that stare that’s been missing from the last few minutes of conversation. Big Boss can see everything in it. Resignation. Anticipation. Dread.

_So you’re going to beat me up. Go ahead. I can take it._

For a moment, Big Boss’s hand tightens around his neck, itching to accept that unspoken challenge.

Violence between the two of them had always been charged. A different animal from the violence that makes up Big Boss’s day-to-day. That violence is practical. It’s knowing the vulnerable points of a human body. Seeing opportunities to incapacitate quickly, effectively, efficiently.

“Violence is impersonal,” she’d said to him once, holding his head still with one hand as she stitched a gash above his eyebrow with the other. It stung. “You don’t do it to cause pain, but to accomplish your goal.” He looked back at her, not saying anything, and she had smiled at him. “I want you to become stronger.”

It had always been more than that, with Kaz. More than a means to an end. They fought because Kaz was out of line, or they were bored, or Kaz needed to blow off steam. Sometimes for no real reason at all. More often than not it led to sex. It was never a fair fight.

Kaz was always so at ease, afterward. Pleased with himself. Maybe more relaxed than Big Boss ever saw him otherwise.

He once overheard him chatting with one of the men on deck.

He had knocked Kaz’s head against the floor the day before, and it had bruised more dramatically than Big Boss would have predicted. He had bled blue and purple underneath the delicate skin around his eyes. A startling, deep-red bruise had risen on his brow where the impact had been.

The soldier whistled. “Did you take that to medical?” 

He peered at Kaz curiously. A little too mindful of rank to ask the question directly. Everyone knew Commander Miller didn’t often go into the field.

“This?” Kaz said easily, smiling. “Yeah, he really got me, huh?” He slid his shades down his nose to show him the extent of the damage.

“Yeah, shit,” the soldier said, sounding impressed. Kaz laughed.

“Snake is the best there is. Take it from me,” he told him. There was a playful ruefulness in his tone, but beneath it there was real pride. Affection.

Kaz had glanced over, seen Big Boss listening, and smiled as he changed the subject.

He looks at Kaz, back to the wall, staring him down and breathing through his teeth. They both know where this is going.

Big Boss lets his hand run up along the column of Kaz’s throat, over smooth skin and rough stubble, and grips his jaw between thumb and forefinger. He tilts his head to one side and leans in, rests his mouth against the soft skin of his throat.

Kaz freezes. Big Boss feels him stop breathing, his chest going dead still. His grip on Big Boss’s wrist goes slack.

Big Boss lets his mouth drag against Kaz’s neck, down to the skin just above his clavicle. He presses his face into it, breathes in. They both hardly move.

He bites at him, gently. Harmlessly. Just dragging teeth across skin. A shudder goes through Kaz. He inhales shakily.

“Mm,” Big Boss hums against the base of his throat. He mouths at it and feels Kaz’s breath catch.

His hand migrates to the back of Kaz’s head, fingers in his damp hair. He isn’t going anywhere.

Big Boss feels Kaz’s hand leave his arm and grip his shoulder. His fingers dig in, and even through several layers of fabric, it hurts a little. Big Boss’s left arm goes around his waist and pulls him closer. For an instant, they feel perfectly in sync.

When he hears the baby start crying Big Boss doesn’t register it as important. He’s hyper-focused on Kaz: the softness of his skin under his mouth, the sliver of space remaining between their bodies.

Kaz, however, reacts to the noise like the sound of a gunshot. He startles, curses, and pushes Big Boss away from him.

“God, _Boss_ ,” he says, accusatory and wide-eyed, gesturing at the wall.

Big Boss doesn’t follow. Kaz doesn’t elaborate. He just straightens up and walks right past him into the hallway, shaking his head as if to clear it.

He leaves an ugly dent in that smooth paint behind him.  

Big Boss lets out a heavy breath as he leans back against the table. He looks down at his wrist. No marks yet, but there will be. Even with his left hand. Big Boss smiles.

After a few minutes the wailing stops.

When Kaz comes back through the same door, the baby is against his chest, held with one arm. He looks surprised to find Big Boss still standing in his kitchen. His face darkens.

“You have to go,” he says. His voice is low, suddenly, almost a growl. If Big Boss didn’t know better he’d call it threatening. But Kaz always was smart.

He looks at him for a long moment, thinking it over. Kaz stares right back, his mouth set.

Finally Big Boss raises himself to his feet.

Kaz stands stock still, watching him, while Big Boss crosses the room and comes in close. Close enough that they’re breathing the same air. Close enough he can see the individual hairs of stubble on his jaw. Kaz’s eyes are fixed on Big Boss’s face, guarded and watchful. He dips his head to kiss him.

Kaz recoils. He turns his head with a jerk and takes a quick, unsteady step backwards.

It feels, to Big Boss, as if something severs with a tangible _snap_ when Kaz puts that distance between them.  

Kaz takes another step backwards, more deliberate. He’s cradling the kid to his chest with both arms, breathing heavy again. Avoiding Big Boss’s eyes.

He turns his back on him.

“Just get out,” he says.

 

Standing on Kaz’s porch, Big Boss gets that cigar out. He lights it. The smell is the only thing that seems real on this neat, orderly TV street. He takes a long drag and holds it in his lungs a moment before exhaling.

A memory comes to him, unprompted. One he hasn’t thought of in years.

The happy, slightly abashed grin Kaz had worn, picking himself up and brushing himself off after they had fucked in the jungle. Not quite looking Big Boss in the eye. Big Boss cross-legged in the grass and leaves and dirt, just watching him.

Another image surfaces, prompted by the first. They had both been soaked with sweat, lying in that jungle in the middle of the day. Kaz’s mouth had been salty with it. His thighs around Big Boss’s waist had been damp, tense. They might have been shaking a little. That happened sometimes. He’d had his arms around Big Boss’s back, fingers digging into his skin, desperately pulling Big Boss against him. Big Boss on top of him, inside him, breathing unsteadily through Big Boss’s open mouth, and he’d still wanted him _closer_.

The memory sends an uncomfortable shiver through Big Boss. He rolls his shoulder and takes a long drag from his cigar. His wrist aches.

Kaz still wants him. He could see it, _feel_ it, whenever they were physically close. Kaz touched him. He let himself be pulled in. If he’s angry, if part of him hates Big Boss, that’s fine. _True comrades_ , that’s what he told him. Kaz can’t change it, even if he wants to.

He’ll come back here, some other night, Big Boss thinks, as he slips off the porch and into the street. Under the white glare of a street lamp he watches the dim electric glow inside the house switch off bit by bit.

He’ll be back, he tells himself. He'll be back.


End file.
